The Janus Faced Man
by Machiavellian Skulduggery
Summary: In the city of sin, where the rich rule. How do you get to the top faster than everyone else? The Courier has been shot dead and The Five great crime families rule the city through violence, money, drugs and sex...Just who could resist a life made of that combination?. All of it is possible through New Vegas and a little bit of violent ambition.
1. Prologue

**The Janus Faced Man - Prolouge**

Vegas had expanded rapidly after the years following the second battle for Hoover dam. Under the rule of the man once known as the Courier it had flourished. He had annexed Freeside, Westside and all the surrounding areas to restore New Vegas to being even bigger than its' pre war state including areas that it ruled through Hegemony to the point where even the mighty Arroyo paled in comparison to Vegas' neon soaked splendor.

For many years The Courier had been the reincarnation of Mr House -just far more brutal- in secret he killed all compeditors, he destroyed lives and ruined futues. As a result He could not walk the strip, face bare, without having almost everyone avert his gaze or treat him with the respect that he deserved, something that he especially hated . He was not a kind man, in any sense of the word. He had ruled as a military dictatorship that was disguised as a party town; every three days he had thrown lavish parties in the Lucky 38 that shocked the populus of the Wasteland had never seen before and brought the reputation of New vegas to new levels. Everyone in the city was invited, no matter their colour or creed, race or mutation, anyone and everyone could come. These parties were where people indulged their innermost desires and marveled at the granduer on display, fireworks, bright lights, tamed deathclaws doing tricks drinking, drugs, fighting and every kind of debauched sex imaginable. A saying grew that 'Every lust and indulgence you could want exists behind the doors of the Lucky 38, you just have to find the right door'. All this opulent luxary had distracted the humble people of the Wasteland from the reality of the way that Vegas was run and the ones who would notice what was really going on just didn't care enough to _try _and change it.

However one day he changed. The ones who noticed the change had no idea why or what brought it around. Some said that he grew a conscience, some thought that he grew tired of power and others that he had some hidden agenda. What ever his reasoning, he abandoned running a dictatorship and set up a quasi-semi republic that was really a meritocratic - plutocracy where the rich were in power and yet anyone could become rich if they figured out how to properly go about it. This could only be acheived in this post war world where values and lives were different. It was a beautiful system, everyone got richer and everyones lives improved even if they had little power, they still had power over someone else. No one could truly be the lowest of the low unless they wanted to be as they could easily make more money to get more power.

So, how did people go about making these large amounts of money? Well there is a multitude of ways, but the main ones went about it through legitimate businesses, others through very hard work and effort and the others went about it through crime. This new system largely purpetuated gangster culture, where they bootlegged alcohol, ran casinos, sold drugs, assassinated targets, racketeered legitimate businesses, ran strip clubs and did hundreds of shady practises that improved some lives and wrecked others. Through this five organised crime families rose to prominence that kingpinned all the crime in the city; The Sterlings, The Calloways, The Fortunas, The Omerta -the reformation of the Omertas- and The Patriarcha. What had ensued shortly after the rise of these five crime families was a bloody war for total control of the strip. People were executed in the streets, opposing members tortured, families dragged from burning homes and children killed.

That had lasted for 6 months before anyone had tried to stop it. Surprisingly it was the Courier that tried to bring it all to an end; despite having withdrawn altogether from public life following his step down of power he had not wanted to see the utopia he had spent so much time and love building tear itself to pieces. He called a meeting with the heads of the five families to bring some kind of stability to this out of control situation.

_2295, 13 years after the fall of Mr House, 5 years since the step down of the Courier from power, 2 years since the rise of the Five Families, 6 months since the start of the Great Gangster War and 1 hour 25 minuetes into the meeting of the five families_

Sat at the boardroom table of the Lucky 38 Casino were seven men, total in the room was 20 as each man was allowed two bodyguards to accompany them. The boardroom itself was lavishely furnished in a bourgeois fashion with luxary red velvet decorating the chairs and ornaments surrounding the table. Bizzare surrealist paintings littering the walls of the room and a large sculpture of the Lucky 38 set in polished obsidian that touched the roof of the room acted as a center piece to the table. The atmosphere was tense, body odour hung in the air as the men all sweated like pigs with little beads running down their cheeks into their expensive shirts. Each man was silent having just assembled from a break in the debating and were waiting for the Courier to resume conversation.

The Courier himself was sat at the head of the table and it was obvious that he had grown elderly, his hair had turned a salt and pepper colour and was brushed into a smooth wave on his head. His skin was hanging slightly from his face in age and his cheeks had turned particularly jowly. His aged square set face had obviously once been handsome, the only feature that had retained any of its' youth were his eyes; they were a piercing icy blue that saw straight through a person and added to his natural coercion and his ability to extract information from people peacfully. His voice was haggered and experienced that was slightly unplesent to listen to as he drew in rasping breaths every few seconds. He spoke and moved slowly, the Courier didn't have to move for anybody. They moved for him. The only people he would move fast for was his companions who were either scattered to the winds, dead or had rejected him during his Militaristic dictatorship. Anger was obviously visible behind his eyes as he stewed from what had transpired in the meeting so far. Which was precisely nothing. They had done nothing but declare the others to be at fault for the war and demand compensation for their suffering. Well each family except for the patriarchas and the Bishops. Mainly because the Mr Bishop was visiting from New Reno to secure that the terms of the peace wouldn't affect trade with New Reno, and the Patriarchas because they were a very patient family who spilled the least blood during the war. Which reflected their entire strategy of them making money, mainly commiting white collar or victimless crimes such as gambling, fraud, and running Casinos. The Don of the family; Don Patriarcha, was absent due to an unspecified illness so his consilgere sat in his place.

The Courier liked the Patriarchas, they were a respectable family who would sooner think before acting. After the death of the King the Kings had been stunned without a leader and had aimlessly continued with their usual gang activites but had lost that spark which had made them so exhilarating to be around and unique. As such they had been approached by the Chairmen to be absorbed into the Chairmen. Initally they had refused, stating that they were 'some weird cats' who would obliterate their cultural identity. Yet as their numbers had started to lessen and their ability to protect Freeside dwindled they returned to the Chairmen with a new deal; For the two groups to merge and form a new one which would be a combination of the two. Combining Style and fighting styles (Which were similar anyway). Surprisingly the Chairman had agreed and formed the Patriarchas

The ones who had been primarily arguing was The Omerta and The Calloways. They had spilled the most blood in the war serverly cutting the huge manpower possessed by each family. Bodies from the open executions of the two families members were still scattered around the city and bodies from silent hits were being found in concealed areas such as dumpsters and in bushes all the time. Hundereds of people were still missing from unknown circumstances.

So far they had each declared the other to be responsible for sparking the war, who killed whos son first and which one should be wiped out entierly. The main ones who had been doing the blaming were the Calloways and the Omerta.

The Calloways were a viscous family, who in reality were nothing more than a weakly organised group of bandits. They had only managed to be successful so far due to their strong -socio/psychopathic- leaders who forced the family members to whorship them as superme beings. This was most likely due to them mainly being made up of ex-Viper members who needed some kind of deity to praise to keep some small semblence of sanity.

At the meeting was Don Calloway; a man whos body was ripped with muscle, yet was on the small side resulting in a Naapolean complex against anyone who he viewed to be bigger than him, in the sense of power and size.

For the Omerta there was Cachino. Cachino was a balding man with a morose attitude and a sour face. He wore the typical beige pinstriped suite that the Omerta often wore. Cachino was a member of the original Omertas who had run the Gomorrah on the strip proper until the Courier had taken a dislike to their scheming and kicked them out of the strip proper. Now they lurked around the outskirts and suburbs of New Vegas conducting business with a thorough contempt for the Courier and agressive Jealousy for the other families; all of who were currently more powerful. They still retained the ethos of the Omertas; which was their name entierly. Omerta, in Gangster culture is the code of silence which each member undertakes to not tell any authority police service the affairs of the family.

The Fortunas and Sterlings so far had relented on saying much, only adding the occasional word or complaint as the war had been most profitable for them. They'd still lost lots of men and property, yet they, for the most part, had come out unscathed gaining larger amounts of territory than they had lost and had killed many members of the Omerta and Calloways.

The Fortunas were aptly named due to the fact tht they were the luckiest bastards on the strip right now. Despite -pre Gangster War- being the smallest families they had now become one of the largest with the smallest amount of men. They'd acheived this through excellent strategy and would only fight in situations where it would strategically be heavily in their favor and would rather give up small areas now to gain larger ones later on. Despite the Courier seeing them as having a low sense of recitiude and being strong opportunist, he admired their strategic value and intellectual power.

The Sterlings had done their utmost to look like pre war gangsters with a uniform of black suits, white shirts, red ties and black fedoras. The only thing that they carried which would signal that they weren't pre war gangsters was that they were their Laser RCW's, which they'd picked because it resembled the pre war tommy guns. Their need to look and act pre war bordered on mentally obsesive, where members were excomunicated from the family if they were heard or seen doing something that used terribly advanced technology such as wearing power armor or using robots.

Altogether these fine representatives of humanity made up the La Cosa Nostra of Wasteland America. Each one showing the unique qualities and specifics of their families. And each was as despicable as the next in their own way.

The Courier drummed his fingers. The repedative motion soothing the anger that he was feeling towards these morons. His lips were very thin and his jaw was clenched together to keep himself calm. Due to his reputation and because of where they were they would wait for him to speak before initiating conversation again out of respect.

In the extreme heat of the day they figited uncomfortably in their expensive suits that weren't made for the harsh heat and he was happy to let them broil. They sat like impetulent children who knew they would be told off.

The Courier had been making them sit uncomfortably for five minuetes so far and had gotten to the point where he had grow annoyed with tormenting them and decided to euthenise their agony despite the Vexation that he still felt towards them.

After pausing for a few moments to collect his thoughts he stood from his chair and felt all the eyes that had been avoiding his gaze slowly turn to him to hear what he was going to say.

"My associates, the simple and god honest truth" he pointed to the ceiling as he said this and gave a rasping cough before continuing. "The god honest truth, is that we have to end this war". He paused letting that sink in for a moment, looking into each set of eyes sat at the table "Or it will end us. Each person sat at this table could easily fight eachother to the edges of the earth and bring the rest of civilization teatering to the brink with us. But I will not let that happen in my city.".

He left his position at the head of the table to pace the table, resting his hand on the shoulders of each person in turn.

"This is the moment to live or the moment to die, we are the liars and the pariahs, we are the victors and to some the messiahs of this world yet we bicker like children. I had hoped that we could come here and reason together yet instead we sit here chorusing 'Vendetta, Vendetta' like it is a right!". By now the Courier had lost his decorum and slammed his fist into the table near to Cachio -who flinched slightly in response- and Mr Bishop who merely smiled. He drew his hand back in and smoothed his suit, thinking calming thoughts.

"How did things ever get so far? So unfortunate and so unessessary. But things cannot go on as they did before, We are reasonable men and we can come to a reasonable agreement."

By now he had returned to his position at the head of the table. He drew his hands behind his back to stop showing them shaking from raw anger.

"We will draw up offical territory boundaries for New Vegas for who gets what territory evryone possess and you will stick to those boundaries and not expand beyond them" . Upon saying this he could see the discomfort on their faces and heard the hurried whispers that occured between the Dons and their Body guards -who were mostly their Capos or Consilgeres- .

"This is Bullshit!" The Courier turned his head towards the source of the outburst. It was Cachino.

"Do you not get the ways in that Mafias work? People fight and people die. We will take what territory we want and you -a man who for some reason is treated like he has power yet in reality only owns one Casino and not much moeny- cannot stop us doing what we want." Cachino was obviously steaming his cheeks having grown red and eyes stormy.

"Is this about the Gomorrah, Cachino?" Said the Courier, a smile flickering at the edges of his mouth as he said this. Cachinos' face seemed to spasm at that and it too him a couple of seconds to regain control of his muscles before he could continue, even with a vain throbing in his forehead.

"Yeah, maybe it is. You shouldn't have been able to do as you did. Who the fuck are you really? Hmm. A washed up old cobblepot that abuses the power that you don't deserve." By the end of this Cachino was pointing his finger in an effort to channel his agression through his extremity.

The Courier walked around the table and straight up to Cachino. Cachinos bodyguards made to stand up as he approached but Cachino waved them to where they were. Until they were nose to nose looking into each others eyes glaring at each other.

Through gritted teeth the Courier said "Maybe, Cachino you should use that peanut sized brain of yours and think. I'm going to make you an offer that you cannot refuse. This is going to be the only chance when you can keep or expand your borders and if you leave now everyone here will be allowed to come down on you like holy hellfire until nothing but a whisper on the wind remains of your pathetic family" His voice was a little above a threatening whisper "So maybe, Cachino you should sit down and _SHUT UP_" Contrasting to his previously soft tone he shouted the last words causing spittle to flying into Cachinos face. Not wiping it off Cachino sat, heavily, in his chair making a loud thud.

For the next hour of the meeting they drew up what territory each family would gain and what they would lose. Aside from a few grumbles they all said what a man with two penises says to their tailor when he asks whether he dresses to the right or the left. 'Yes'.

They sealed it with an embrace of each boss with the Courier and a wax stamp from each Dons ring. When it came to Cachino the small man wouldn't meet his eye, despite this he treated him with the same respect as every other boss.

When he embraced him he felt a bizzare pressure in his gut and heard.

"Do not fuck with the Omerta". With that there was five muffled cracks that reverberated around the room confusing the origin of the shot. Upon falling to his knees and feeling the pooling blood in his waistband he realised that he was the one who had been shot.

He was dying. He knew it. His life was slowly weeping out through the mangled hole that was his lower abdomen. Cachino was already running from the room with his body guards following him and the other Bosses having initially been shocked into paralysis giving pursuit. He fell onto his back and looked at the ceiling and wondered why he had insited on doing such a stupid traditon of embracing each member before signing the treaty. His Bodyguards were at his sides mopping up the blood that he had coughed done his face. When had he done that? He didn't know, but was dully aware of them dragging him into his saferoom for medical attention, yet his vision was already going fuzzy and turning black.

Despite his bodyguards best efforts to revive him they were ultimately futile.

The Courier never left that room.


	2. Chapter One, Twenty One Years Of My Life

The Janus Faced Man, Chapter 1; The First Twenty One Years Of My Life

*Crackling as a TV screen flickers into life*

On the screen sat a man. He wore a black dinner jacket suit and bow tie combo with a white shirt. His head was in his hands, a silver and black onyx ring stood out upon his little finger. As if realizing that there was a camera there for the first time he looked up and spoke.

_My name, is Trimalchio Carter and as far back as I can remember I always wanted to be a Gangster._

_I was born into the slums of Freeside to a dead father and a dead beat mother. We lived in a Shitty, cobbled together, corrugated iron shack that sat opposite the Kings dance studio. Everybody looked down upon us as pondscum, even the jet addicts who couldn't keep their eyes the right colour or their hair from falling out would look down their congealed noses at us and would spit. The fucking scum that we lived like turned the stomach. I mean god forbid that my mother should go out there and claw us out of the inescapable poverty that we were trapped in. She would just sit in a puddle of stagnant water and her own crap crying, rocking back and fort slightly as she did so. That crying. That incessant crying, it was enough to worm inside your head and drive you beyond the brink of insanity. It was one thing that she would sink herself down to this social level of shit was one thing, but for her to bring __ME __down with her! She was the worst kind of person, always distraught about many things so that they couldn't even bring themselves to be the detritus bottom feeders of society, but rather sat in self caused and wanted dilapidation and neglect._

_You see I was smart, really smart. Smarter than anyone with my background deserved to have any right to. The thing was I knew it. I Knew it better than anyone out there ever fucking could._

The man named Trimalchio was sat forward in his chair, body hunched over and jaw thrust out in a primitive gesture of aggression with one arm presumably pointing at a doorway or outside world. A wild fire blazed behind his eyes, curling and snapping growing to a point where it seemed it would burst forth from its' fleshy prison to envelop any beholder. Just before it had reached that point, he sat back. Smoothed down his hair; which had become disheveled and Straightened his suit. Each fold that was removed saw a bit of anger ebb from him until his face was returned to the previous state.

_Do you know who has the true power? Hm. No? Well it is the Gangsters. There were promises made that you could get to the top by long hard work, But who wanted to do that? The Gangsters, they played on a different system. The same rule set didn't apply to them. They got to bypass it all and go to the tippy top of society where they had power at the click of their fingers. Money bulging in their pockets and girls trailing after them, gagging for their money every day of the week. _

_One day out of the corner of my eye - from a dark shadow that I was sat in - I saw a Gangsters wife, She was wearing the finest clothes and looked stunningly beautiful. Of course even if I was the same age as her she was always out of my reach - At the time - and that wasn't what had struck me so when I saw her. Around her was a group of children that was carrying her shopping for her, they carried it all. All of the two mile walk back to her house. Do you know why they did it? It was out of respect. That level of respect, it struck a chord deep inside me, I wanted that. It clawed away deep inside me that want for that respect. Until eventually it became one of the thing that I couldn't stop thinking about until I got it._

_So as a result I created a vision for how my life would play out. The script for how it would be performed was nothing short of a master piece and knew I would relish in its' every act._

_It was drew up on a night when the lights of Vegas cut out and for the first time in my young life I saw the stars, twinkling in all their majestic glory and beauty. Not only them either, I saw our Galaxy, the Milky Way. The Beauty of those radiation clouds up there would reflect in my eyes for the rest of my life only to be pushed out occasionally by a few very special people and places._

_Those clouds spoke to me. What they told me was that I was the son of a deity. Not God, nobody quite so fickle and vain as God but rather a Daemon. No not a Demon dear listener. But a Daemon, a divine being of a nature between that of gods and humans. I knew that he had placed me on this earth and in this shit to prove myself to him, to show him that I was worthy for greater deeds. I from that moment on would prove myself by leaving my mark on this earth that was bigger, louder, more impressive and more maestoso in nature than any mark that had ever come before or any that would ever come after. I would become the wealthiest, most powerful and most fear inspiring bastard that had ever walked the wastes._

_Total, it took me three months to build that vision in my head, into something real, a hard thing that I could watch before my eyes, each second having been scripted to my bespoke wants._

_So, as per my vision, when I struck fourteen years old I gathered up the very few possessions that I owned and the few essentials that I could find and I left to make something of my life on earth. I wanted to leave without my mother noticing. Not to spare her any pain, but rather to not have to deal with that crying. My light step was not as light as I had thought and she engaged me. Despite her small intellect she figured out fairly quickly what was happening and clung to me, despaired at me, begged me and cried at me not to leave. Being the sentimental creature that I am I decided to try and reason with her. Obviously nothing came of it, just more of that crying. Her hands scrabbled at my shoulder as she garbled desperate pleas. The smell of putrefaction and decay that came from her loose corium and rags was nauseating. Bad enough that it caught the back of the throat causing gagging and sent the eyes to water in ever fresh disgust. It ended with me having to smote her across the face to get her to let me go. I composed my clothing and mind, not wanting to start my new life with a bad first impression, and left her crying into a pool of grimy excrement. Looking back at her from outside the doorway I truly realized what dross she was, she had done everything in her power to deserve this and I always got satisfaction from giving people getting what they had worked so hard to deserve. I also felt regret. No, no, not for her. But for me. I had forsaken my pleasures and delectation to feed her and scrape the lowest form of living that was possible._

_From that moment forward I chose to call myself Trimalchio Carter as a symbol of my new life and one that would truly befit it. That night I turned my back on that shack and woman forever and never saw them again, disappearing from my life as if they were misted breath on a mirror instead of the cracks in the mirror that they really were._

The man who named himself Trimalchio leaned forward toward the screen as if to share some secret with the watcher, his head at forty five degrees to the screen not looking quite at it. Before sharing this he lit a pipe pulled from his pocket shaped like a claw holding the bowl and chamber of the pipe.

_Now dear listener if any of you are sitting there finding me wanting like an ignorant fuck then I do from the bottom of my heart implore you; please get into the mental and physical condition I was in. Please do go and live in those conditions for fourteen years of your life when you were meant for so much better. Then and only then will I possibly entertain the idea that you could possibly have so much as an inkling of a point against me. If you would truly need something more to convince you that she deserved it I will tell yo an anecdote from when I was eight. I was sat in the squalor of our 'doorway' when the local troglodyte and his entourage of neanderthals decided that the piece of dirt I was playing with had offended their character. So as would be the natural response they beat me to near death. After the first connection of a baseball bat with my cheek there is a gap in my memory of blackness, after that the next thing I remember was having a ringing pain in my head a buzzing in my cheek and hearing screaming. There was blood on the floor that was a mixture of mine and someone elses', How had I drawn someone elses? I don't Know, but something within me chose to defend me and did so quite valiantly I would imagine. All that time she had sat naught but 5 meters away just watching with a milky eyed 1000 yard stare. Not caring what happened to me, so I ran eventually a day later a Follower of the Apocalypse found me, patched me up and sent me right back into there with the most noble of intentions on his mind._

He sat back now, looking as if he had let out some large weight or experienced some kind of draining ordeal. With his eyes downcast from the TV he let the expensive pipe drop from his mouth onto his trousers and left a few moments of silence while he appeared to be mulling what he'd said over.

_Just for those of you who are running tight schedules, I will for now skip the details of what I did for the first five years of my new life but it all changed in 2295 when I met Don Eden Rapture Patriarcha himself. You see I did him a small debt on one occasion, for which he was quite grateful. You see, in life there are moments that you have to wait for. When you see them they are obvious windows. You just need to know how to jump through them and I saw mine then and knew exactly how to jump through it. If you are curious as to the circumstances under that we met you will sadly be left wanting for that story. However I will tell you that the words 'Licentious' 'Libertine' and 'Salacious' come to mind. _

_Anyway, from his gratitude and good graces he took me under his wing to educate me in the fine art of being a gentleman. He taught me how to dress, act and speak like a gentleman; while I had wrinkled out the absurd twang in my accent when I was quite young he specified it, refined if you will. Into a honed blade that cut through social interactions and would send socialites and sycophants scattering alike. He taught what suits work in business and which do not, what to wear to certain occasions, that it was rude to wear clothes to a nude beach. Everything a Gentleman could need to know how to look in fashion in a city such as New Vegas. He taught how to move with grace and finesse, how to play instruments, Dance in many styles, how to coerce and woo, and in his opinion the most important thing; the handshake, it could make or break any kind of relationship, too hard on frail people showed a lack of empathy and brashness while too weak a handshake showed vulnerability, eye contact was vital. Squeezing hard was only appropriate with friends and long time acquaintances if they engage it first. Finally what I thought was most important was the formal education. I could romp through everything that he and the tutors could throw at me that was under university level and even that was only a meager challenge. Philosophy was the one I was most interested in and that turned out to be the easiest with me already having stumbled upon most philiosophical discoveries making it useless to discuss. _

_He and I became fast friends with our personalities complimenting the others, he invited me to lavish parties at his and others Manors. Having knocked down the Kings old studio and replaced it with his own Mansion. Hell, most of Freeside by then had become high class, thankfully that shack that sat opposite was long gone. When I was with him people looked at me differently, treated me with the respect I deserved and would often avert their eyes if I looked directly into them for more than a few seconds. We went to the front of lines, got the better food. It was a glorious feeling to revel in this new found power._

_For a few months he left the Family in the power of his Consilgere and Capos then left to travel the coasts on his boat and took me with him. We went north to the frozen wastes of Alaska, to the sun baked peninsula of Baja and round to the purified shores of Washington D.C. It would have seemed that the good times would roll on forever and never end, yet all things do come to eventually end._

_One day, when we visited Arroyo he left a dinner early. Complaining of photo phobia and feeling sick. The next morning he was found dead by a maid, apparently having contracted Meningococcal Meningitis which turned into Meningococcal Septicemia. You see when someone has Meningococcal septicemia, the bacteria enter the bloodstream and multiply, damaging the walls of the blood vessels and cause bleeding into the skin and organs. Poor Bastard, was dead within minutes once it became Septicemia. I never even saw the body. I believe it was round about the time when I had my head in my hands and a Doctor prattling on about his symptoms that I realized that my first friend in the world had just died. Since meeting him I had naturally made more, yet it left me feeling very raw inside. Inspiring many the alcoholic stupor and sexual binge._

_For a few months I didn't even think I would get invited to the funeral or a share of the inheritance; having been a better son than his had ever been. He hadn't talked much about his son, yet there was an obvious twinge of sadness in his voice when he did, anytime he got that twinge he would disappear for a few days. I presume he went on the booze fueled, sex rampages as was aslo his Modus operandi._

The man named Trimalchio had a shadow of true sorrow cross his face when he described his friends passing. There was a few minutes before he looked at the camera again let alone started talking.

_Yet my life changed once more when I got a letter formally inviting me to attend one of the Lucky 38s' Parties being thrown in celebration of the new Don._

_You need to understand is that in the summer of 2297 the tempo of New Vegas had reached a raving mania. New Wealth had reached record peaks and the larger strip boomed with the clinking roar of caps. The Parties were bigger, the Strip shows were broader, the Morales were somehow looser and due to an influx of supply; the liquor was cheaper than ever before. New Vegas had metamorphosed; destroyed buildings were bulldozed and rebuilt ever taller pushing the skyline even higher, Cars had become a common sight upon the roads again 40% of the population was above the poverty line; at all time high. Fashion had returned to a combination between; Tudor corsets and neck ruffs and the 1920s new money style. The Jazz age had truly returned to the world and hit Vegas full in the face. It truly was something to behold in its' neon glory. The Jewel of it all remained the Lucky 38. While buildings had creeped ever closer to its' height the Lucky 38 still stood proud with its' head poking just above the rest showing an air of wealth and comfort that contrasted to the other handsome houses and Casinos that were a composite of their Old world facades and New world values._

The man named Trimalchio fingered the ring situated upon his right little finger and looked into the camera directly.

_So before I continue to the Lucky 38 party, I know precisely what you are thinking exactly 15 minuetes and 37 seconds into this video. Because it is exactly what I thought when I was showed one of these videos for the first time. Bit of a weird tradition isn't it? To show someone who is about to become a made-man a video of another made man._

_But I digress, you want to know what you're thinking, right? Well what you are thinking is. 'If this guy was made and lived so recently, how come he ain't around no more'. Well you are quite correct in thinking that. I came from watching my story thinking, 'I wonder what got that guy?'._

_So know you are watching me... and you are wondering...'what got him?'._

* * *

If you happen to have any questions or confusions then that is probably the way you should have come out of this chapter and probably won't be answered until further into the book. However if you happen to see something that you don't think makes sense then please send me a message and I will either answer it or tell you whether it will be answered further into the story or not.

Thank you.

(Also this story may have references to sexism, some racism towards ghouls or actual races and other things which involve crass language, graphic depictions of violence and torture and references to many kinds of weird sex acts that happen behind the doors of the Lucky 38. So non of these opinions or anger towards things are my opinions but rather those of the character. So please don't think I really believe that anything that any of the characters may spout).


	3. The Lucky 38 and It's Aurora

The Janus Faced Man, Chapter 2

I remember the night when I first pulled up at the Lucky 38 casino, just as clearly as if I was standing before it now. Nobody ever forgets the first time they see it. The lights would push upwards into the sky, making it visible for miles across the wastes. The white marble would shine with a brilliant sheen, almost blinding upon first glance. The windows gave off an opaque blaze that hid the insides from any outside beholder, and the building hid more than enough secrets for the entire city to guess at. During a party occasion, the queue to enter was sometimes twelve people abreast, and still people queued for miles in a vain struggle to gain entrance before the night was done. Even though invitations were required, they fiercely hoped that somehow they would be admitted. So that there wasn't the same guest each week, invitations were distributed at random to people throughout the city, and the 'select few' who had the Patriarcha's favor.

Childlike awe and excitement filled the face of every man and woman, their eyes wide and waiting to see what sights they would behold on that night. And there I was with the rest of them, eager to catch even the slightest glimpse of the fabled pleasures held within the Lucky 38 Casino and Hotel. Thankfully, a simple flash of my invitation to the gangsters acting as attendees allowed me to join my rightful place at the front of the line, with everyone else at my posterior.

My God. Every time you would walk through those doors the bedazzling light would leave you blinded, only for you to come around and behold the grandest sights you had ever seen. The champagne fountains, the acrobats, the fine clothes, the 'private showgirls and guys'. The total indifference to how much money was spent, the ostentatious wealth and debauchery. It all built up and up and up until it finally it hit you full in the face. It was like this metallic taste that would linger at the back of your mouth, yet wasn't entirely unpleasant. Eyes which would have never seen wealth on even a remotely similar scale could have melted in their sockets at the grandeur on display.

The event organizers had this uncanny trick of having just the right music to fit the flow of the event that night. No matter what could be happening, the musician on stage always had the crowds in a frenzy for their music. It was so tuned to the point where it would spread into every single cell of your body and cause them to rollick to the beat of the music. It would vibrate in your very marrow and rise in your chest like a bubble of sheer joy that would never pop, providing the ultimate sensation of jubilance.

I recall finding myself not even having fully entered the party just yet, just standing at the top of the marble staircase that led to the main party. Just marveling at it all. It was a shameless display of opulence and excess that transcended even the usual levels of the City of Sin. Even the guests were a true sight to behold. It was a melting pot of the classes, with the most jingoist upper classes being forced to schmooze and rub shoulders with even the most penurious people of Queer Street*.

Probably even more entertaining to look upon was the interactions of the Noveau Riche and the Old Money*. The Old Money were like well dressed children at the zoo who, as happy as they were to be pressed as far against the glass as possible, wouldn't actually like to be on the other side. The New Money fell into the same hidden trap as they all did. In their desire to climb the social ladders, they would act in many ways they believed that they should behave with their new-found fortunes. Their lack of cultivation drove them to buy every wrong item, and with every improper purchase proving how much they would never get 'it'. The things they bought ranged from the wrong kinds of alcohol, pink suits, cold cream and all manner of things that the Old Money would be repulsed at buying. Almost in a sad way, the Noveau Riche fell victim to the same cruelly invisible barrier of destiny, the same iron laws of social and evolutionary distinction that their zoo companions also fell victim to.

Which is the Transparency of the Glass.

They can't see the glass which separates their enclosure from the Old Money. They firmly believe that they have passed through it and stand on the same side of the Old Money. Yet they still feel some kind of disconnect, some kind of niggling in the corners off their eyes when they socialized with them. Which they mistake for them not buying enough with their wealth instead of it being the glass. So they buy more and more of these unsuitable items in an attempt to get closer while all they do is make the glass thicker and thicker.

With my wrists resting on the cool marble, I turned my head away from the main floor of the party to view the intimate groups of Old Money youth on elevated balconies above the rest. Stood huddled together making subtle remarks and transparent compliments, each one playing 'The Game' that was the social battlefield. The best of these players were the blue bloods, confident young girls who would stalk to and fro among the well-known and more handsome. Predacious instincts, defined over many a generation through fine breeding, atavistic in nature leading them to become for a precise, euphoric moment, the pivot of a group. Then, excited with their ascendancy, glissade on through the sea of faces and voices and color under the constant changing of lights to prey upon an unfortunate soul to advance their own social standing and leave theirs languishing in obscurity.

Altogether, The Game was a beastly practice, leaving many the person in absolute misery.

But it was awful fun to play, as was exemplified in what was to occur next.

On the dance floor the rich, being the ones well-practiced at dancing, quickly ballooned around the floor dancing the Lindy Hop, a dance that was especially typical of Vegas at the moment and was one that I especially hated, I didn't know why. It must have been the case of Doctor Fell*. However the music changed to a different lively tune and resulted in the dance changing to the Charleston. While being very similar to the Lindy Hop, this was one which I found much more agreeable. Like the Lindy Hop, it involved many flailing limbs and the shaking of fingers, yet allowed for much more improvisation as it mostly didn't entail extravagant flips and spins with partners which the Lindy Hop did.

I started to leave my position on the stairs, looking for a naïve young girl to dance with before finding my host. Yet before I could do so, an ugly young girl on the dance floor went spilling to the floor, smashing a glass as she did so and bringing a halt to the music which was soon replaced by low murmurs of interest and stifled amusement. A circle of space had surrounded her with everyone looking on in a morbid curiosity, waiting for what entertaining act would happen next. No one moved to help her. She was left to awkwardly hobble back to her feet, one hand clutching the tattered remains of her corset and the other covering her face that was now embedded with glass. As she stood in the center of the vultures - slanted from a broken shoe heel - they looked on. She looked incredibly vulnerable, suddenly firmly grounded to floor with tears streaming down her face.

After what were a few suspense filled moments, a woman who, from her age, was clearly her mother, hurried forward and forcefully grabbed her by the arm to lead her from the floor. The mother's every movement spoke of shame and mortification rather than concern for her injured daughter.

The sharp observer would have noticed a stunning young woman in a scintillantingly bright yellow dress was the one behind her fall. They also may have noticed that as the music recovered, the young woman confidently approached the young gentleman whom the ugly, injured girl from before had been dancing with. She offered her hand to him in a proposal to dance. Everyone who had noted this would look on with silent approval at the stunning young woman's tactful and callous ploy to get what she wanted.

Once the music had fully resumed, a pale, elegant arm floated to rest alongside mine, with practiced poise that expressed a kind of delicate beauty that was truly rare to behold in a person.

'Well, I hoped that I would find you here. This, truly has, turned out to be a much more fascinating evening than I thought.' She said this with contemptuous fascination, looking down upon the dance floor at what had just transpired. Her skin was powdered pale to a level that wasn't unappealing, yet gave her an ethereal quality. She didn't even look to be from this world, in fact. She stood, leaning back slightly with her other long slender arm placed against her back; which was revealed by her dress, that threw backward her shoulders and made her small breasts appear larger. A leisurely mien colored her face, promising all the world and her undivided attention to you. Her voice was a unique melody that captivated any listener, sad and lovely at the same time. It was a euphony in the most delicate of ways, sui generis in everything that was said, bringing any male listener to treasure every single musical note that would tumble from her gossamer, vermillion lips. It was priceless in a way that is truly difficult to comprehend.

Her nose was small, which only served to make her pococurante cool blue eyes more prominent. Her hair was amber yellow, cut short in small ringlets that bounced with her every movement. She was the ultimate prize to hang from your arm, the grail, and came with all the seven deadly desires that came with the grail.

At the age of nineteen her name, was Aurora Ginevra Pagini Fortuna, daughter of one of the most powerful crime families in the city, and was a true Persephone in human form.

So I wanted her. Badly.

She then pushed her shoulder right into me as we stood against the marble railings. Her head downcast slightly with her eyes looking upwards, filled with a fierce yearning for desire. "Well? nothing to say to me?" She asked, smiling her ivory smile that masked the bare base of what I, perhaps, thought could be an apology.

Oh right, I haven't mentioned. We had met, briefly, a few months to the previous at a 'little party' that had been thrown by Eden. Almost all the heads of the five families had attended in a common ground of neutrality; however the Omertà had been excommunicated from the Family Commission due to the assassination of the Courier. Eden had always been especially bitter over the fact, more than any of the others. Perhaps he thought he may have been able to do something if he had been there, yet he told me he had been recovering from a bout of syphilis he acquired on an especially filth strewn night.

Anyway, she had been attending on the arm of her father. She had this effect the first time you saw her. She defeated the senses; she left this aura of light in her wake that people would follow just to get the whiff of the sybaritic tang that came from her, that many didn't suspect to be perfume but rather her natural smell. Her gaze had been one of complete boredom, each person she spoke to attracted this vituperation into her voice. Of course, I only realised that vituperation later, once having heard her voice many times, as vituperation in her voice was still a sweetness of honey to it that was slightly less sweet than it could normally be.

But when she turned her eyes to me they regained that amorous quality. She drifted over to me with a devil-may-care brashness, with a gusto in her actions that told of her eagerness. She seemed like a person who could only live in youth and wouldn't age; in a Dorian Gray Fashion. Once she had introduced herself to Eden and I, she did her best to cover her almost impertinent desire for stimulating conversation with her civilized manners. Though in her fervor she compared me to 'a gem, an absolute gem'. I believe that she was exaggerating, yet it wasn't a compliment that went amiss. We had spent the better part of that night together and most of the following week's evenings in each others company. She had blossomed like a Juliet rose for me. Nevertheless, once that week had ended Eden died and all that connected me to wealth and status faded away to leave me stranded. Including her. I couldn't blame her terribly, yet for a few moments there was an awful hollow feeling. So when I received that invitation it was all that I had left.

So here she was, with an unspoken apology in the air. And I was so ready to waltz back into that crazy lifestyle that I had seen but a glimpse of for that week.

Rather than respond to her, I took the pleasure of bringing her light hand up and brushed my lips against the back of hand. When I brought my head back up her eyes twinkled with that zealous interest in you that inspired such yearning in my stomach.

The musical notes fell once again from her lips and promised to introduce me to some of her friends. She wrapped her own svelte arm around mine, even through the layers of suit fabric I could feel her gentle warmth ebbing through into my arm similar to the feeling of the summer sun.

Leading me through the writhing snake pit that was the dance floor and onto one of the elevated platforms which served as the social area for her, her friends, and the sycophants. As she walked her whole body bounced with this kind of rhythmic energy. I took this time to fully inspect what she was wearing. In the hair tucked behind her ear she wore a Kadupul flower, how she'd gotten her hands on one I didn't know, but they were judged to be priceless as they bloomed only once a year at night, and would wither away come the morning. A hairband sat atop her head, silver, with three peacock feathers sticking from the side and from each one hung lengths of pearls that cut short just at the level of her eyes. Her dress was a slim fitted black, cut at the back and leg revealing much of her skin to barely below her waist. On her hand she had a black, diamond encrusted ring that connected to a pearl bracelet that wrapped around her wrist four times by a diamond tablet with the coloured diamonds in the shape of the sun. Overall, she was at the height of fashion due to having set it herself being the debutante that she was.

Once we reached her friends, her outward appearance had changed somewhat, a brilliant, teeth filled smile had become transfixed upon her face and her head had inclined upwards as if she was balancing something on it that she daren't drop. We strode confidently towards the group of wealthy youth who were reclining in their fine clothes on Divans, or stood with fine wines in their hands comparing inheritances and fortunes.

As we entered they all fawned over Aurora, getting to a point where it couldn't have surprised me if they would have started stroking her skin. Clearly she was the doyen of this group and, despite my suspicions of her hatred for them, she pulled it off with great éclat. They ignored me of course. However once Aurora introduced me as a great friend of the late but famous Eden Patriarcha and her current boyfriend, they all started to clamour over me just as much as they did over her. I raised an eyebrow. This seemed so terribly sudden after months with no communication at all. I knew she'd had many 'Lovers' in the past. Yet for some reason that didn't bother me, it only increased her value. It made it more of an achievement that I could have her.

Once I had explained my reason for here; of meeting Edens son and successor, all started to bicker among themselves over the wild rumors that surround the man. Eden would rarely speak of his son. When did he did it was only ever briefly, and with an air of deep secrecy. He had only mentioned that his son had been away 'helping' Mister Bishop in New Reno. I hadn't been listening to most of what her friends had said, disinterested with the gossip they so reveled in. My eyes wandered around the room until one of the girls near me seemed to have asked me a question.

"Sorry my dear, I didn't quite catch that". I leaned in slightly as I said so.

"HAVE you ever met the man, I said. We all have." There was something quite pathetic about her voice, it was shrill, with an over bearing commitment to try and pronounce every syllable for a second longer than they had to which didn't couple well with the shrillness.

I politely shook my head.

"Ah well, you must go immediately. He is such a charming man. I met him last week. My dress ripped don't you know, so, he had a new one sent to my room. 5000 caps" she drew her lower lip in after this as if it was some scandalous gift to send "I was going to wear it tonight, yet it was too big in the bust, I've had to have it altered". She had a ridiculous look of complacent achievement on her face as if she had just announced some great triumph.

Another woman leaned in and announced her own theory about the new Don. That he was as she said 'The Gentlemen'. A handsome young man who had been sent away to New Reno to be an apprentice under Mr Bishop, yet the combination of some social scandal and his father's death had led to him coming home prematurely to take hold of the family before one of the under-bosses 'guided' the family for him. I found that probably most true.

Then a man with alcohol on his breath who introduced himself as Mr Mumble, gave his slurred version of events that detailed the new Don as 'The Erinaceous boy'. That he had been a reclusive young man who was kept out of public sight by Eden from his shame over having had such a pathetic excuse for a son, and so after his death had been 'put aside' permanently by the capos and under-bosses and the new one was someone who they placed into the position to control from behind the scenes.

A girl who looked barley old enough to fit the dress she wore excitedly added her own ever more fanciful theory, who she detailed as 'The Sociopath'. He was a young associate of the family who had manipulated and lied his way up through power to the ranks of capo. Then when Eden had died, within one night he slit the throats of any who could oppose him and disposed of every body.

It was likely all bollocks. But they had piqued my interest in the man and I concluded that I must meet him with the utmost haste.

This chapter was going slightly longer than I had wanted so it will be split in two, the frequency of these is going to slow due to exams as they have already. However once they are over I have an entire summer to write, so you can expect regular updates.

*Queer Street: To be in financial difficulty. It isn't some bizzare form of a homosexual insult.

*Noveau riche and Old Money: Noveau Riche are rich people who acquired their wealth within their own generation and would have previously belonged to a lower class. Old Money is the inherited wealth of established upper-class families or a person, family, or lineage possessing inherited wealth, So people who have been born into their wealth in contrast to Noveau Riche or New Money who have earned it themselves.

* Doctor Fell: an old english nursery rhyme written in the late 1600s that detailed a a students hate of the man who expelled him. He wrote this during an exam of sorts that was set up to reverse his expulsion. It basically means from the nursery rhyme that Trimalchio doesn't like the dance for no other reason other than because he just simply doesn't. A case of blind hatred really.


End file.
